Buffalo '66

Really strange mixed feelings about this. They say “separate the art from the artist”, but it’s hard to do so when said art speaks tons about the artist himself, and in this case said artist is fucking Vincent Gallo. He says this movie is really not autobiographical, however, even if not a retelling of his life, it is undeniably a self portrait of his psyche and self pity. Which makes it even more damning how I related to Billy Brown. I related to his desperation, rage, hopelessness, how a seemingly quintessential family ruined his life, how he’s haunted by his own bad choices and has to own them up. I was relieved when against all odds he and Layla had a happy ending. Life can be beautiful sometimes. We can outgrow our past mistakes. Christina Ricci is so magnetic on this, even if her character is the proto “but daddy, I can fix him” hoe. American Anna Karina to Gallo’s incel Belmondo, directed by an even more insufferable Godard (and that’s saying a lot). Good stories are bad lives, and good artists unfortunately tend to be bad people